


Fantastic. Brilliant.

by pandashurley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Commanding John, First Time, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandashurley/pseuds/pandashurley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I read the prompt wrong, so here's some BAMF!John, some challenging Sherlock and some love making before the sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantastic. Brilliant.

John never liked to yell. He never liked to fight. Going into the army was primarily to be a doctor, not some soldier. Fighting and killing are two entirely different things. Being woken up at 3:49am on a Tuesday by horrible screeching violin cat calls made the army man seriously consider the difference between the two and how easy it would be to carry or even hide that lanky fuckers dead body. John buried his head under his pillow in an attempt to go back to sleep. He stilled himself and took some deep breaths. Violence was only to be used when necessary. It was becoming harder and harder to think how necessary all this noise was. It had started to sound like Sherlock was playing right outside his damned door. Enough was enough. It had been a week now and John had been patient. Mostly sleepless, but patient. John tore himself out of bed, grabbed his robe and marched down stairs.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock!" John yelled as he stepped into the living room. The noise stopped and John scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping the sleep and frustration out of his eyes. Sherlock had been standing by the window, looking down at the street. As he turned, the violin and bow dropped to his sides and John found his flatmate looking entirely childlike. Like he had been legitimately caught doing something wrong. As soon as John saw that innocence, it was gone. It slid like all the other emotions that John would catch, ever so smoothly behind a stoic mask. Except for the flash of defiance that crossed the detectives eyes. In a smooth, fluid movement, the violin was back under his chin but the song he began to play was slightly more melodious. Only at the beginning. The piece turned wild as Sherlock leaned into the bow, as if it were possessing him. John didn't want to hit him again, at least not after the bruised bones in his hand had finally stopped aching. That man's face was sharp and unforgiving, almost like steel.

John glanced up at the clock, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his once hurt fist. 4:17am. If he was going to be up any longer, going back to sleep would be impossible, and work later would be completely useless. He sighed, again trying to rationalize. He hadn't had a day off in sometime, Sherlock was obviously lonely and going crazy, and the flat could use a bit of a clean anyway. All able to be done, if he started now to work around the annoying git in front of him. Yelling hadn't worked, so John was busy contemplating other tactics. Slowly, he folded his arms over his chest and sauntered toward Sherlock. Like a bloody hunter, Sherlock noticed the movement and starting tracking the calm soldier with his eyes. When John was little more than a yard away, he faced Sherlock completely and squared off his shoulders.

"Sherlock, put the violin down." It was barely audible over the music. Sherlock slowed his playing and lightened his press of bow on string, making the instrument a sudden whisper of what it was. "I said, put the violin down." The music slowed more, becoming plucky and curious. "Put. It. Down." John commanded, emphasizing each word with a small step forward. To his complete surprise, Sherlock complied. Slowly lowering his violin back in the case with a curious look written on his face. Almost like he couldn't believe he was doing it himself. "Now, explain to me why this horrid screeching is necessary." John said, leveling his gaze and expecting the right answer. Sherlock smirked.

"Bored." His grey eyes flashed dangerously, challengingly. John was tired of toeing the line, he was tired of this little back and forth dance. Sherlock was challenging, but when he was bored he was downright insufferable and this, right here was John's breaking point. He wasn't going to yell or throw things, he wasn't going to resort to physical violence or hollow threats of leaving. He was going to be honest.

"I'm tired, Sherlock. Can you please just do me one favor this one time and tell me what the bloody hell is going on inside that massive brain of yours?" John asked, a touch of exasperation in the back of his voice. Sherlock looked taken aback, this response was obviously not what he was expecting.

"I suppose that depends on what answer I decide to give you." Sherlock replied.

"Give me. The Right one." John growled, frustration clearly written all over him. 

"Despite being a Captain in the military, you hardly seem to do anything by force. I was curious to see how forceful you could be." Sherlock said, examining the bow in his hands with mild disinterest.

"How force- what?" John was confused. Suddenly, it dawned on him. It might have been the sleepy fog lifting, the precariousness of the situation turning into physical confrontation, or it was a mild psychotic episode, but John saw everything. The way he would turn away from Sherlock and when he looked back, Sherlock's eyes were on him. The small things he had done when John was mad; cleaning up experiments, buying milk, making tea. The platitudes and the half whispered apologies. The praise and suffering the banality of asking how the doctor's day was. "You..." John said, pointing to his flatmate, his eyes blown wide open. John closed his mouth and smiled. 

"I may be an excellent example for comparison but something tells me you see that same face while I deduct something." Sherlock mused, looking curiously at his flatmate. "Care to share?" Sherlock said, taking a seat in his fake leather lounge. John's smile stretched open more, becoming slightly predatory. 

"Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, wants me to deduce him?" John asked, stepping closer to the chair. Sherlock simply nodded, tenting his fingers and placing them near his chin, a look of mock excitement playing with his angular face. John chuckled sarcastically at him. In living with Sherlock, John had a lot of time to observe. Especially when the man seated before him was too engrossed in what he was doing to pay attention to anything else around him. It also didn't hurt that Sherlock looked amazing when he was wrapped up in his own mind. John often wondered what it would feel like to be inside that complicated mind.

"While your bitter condemnation is a deterrent for some, you know what little effect it has on me. While I am in constant awe of your mind and your brilliance, I have also be blessed with those rare moments in where you think I am not paying nearly as much attention as you are. You, Sherlock Holmes, are as easy to read as medical text. Complicated, yes, at first. Once more of you becomes understood, those little inner workings of your mind come out, Sherlock. And I can see them, all of them, so clearly." John took a breath to continue. Sherlock's face had drained a shade but the look of amusement still held strong. "I've seen what you look like when you think I'm not paying attention. Helpless, lonely... smitten." The last word comes out as a whisper. John's smile is wider now than it has ever been at quarter to 5 in the morning. Sherlock's face had paled completely, his eyes lost in terror and thought. John bit back a laugh. It was nice to have one over on the great Sherlock Holmes. "Speechless, eh?" John asked, now taking his seat in his slightly more homey looking recliner.

Grey eyes met his own, questioning him silently. It really was a miracle. Here they were and Sherlock had actually been stunned silent. John felt some measure of pride curl up warmly in his chest while he sat there patiently waiting for a response. Sherlock was stunned, his mind was obviously working in overdrive. If John didn't know any better, he would think the man's inner hard drive has spontaneously crashed from his words alone. It was a shame that words could only do so much. John watched in interest as the detective's hands fell into his lap, a wet tongue darted out to wet those stunning heart shaped lips. John sighed, only so much. 

"Talk, Sherlock." The man in front of him visibly shivered. Something was happening. "Now." John said, boredom tracing his final word.

"John, I..." He paused and inhaled shakily. "I honestly am speechless." Sherlock jumped a little when he was answered with a barking laugh.

"Now I have seen everything. You know what, Sherlock. This was too easy. Go to bed, no violin until tomorrow." John said as he pushed himself up out of the chair, moving toward the door.

"Alone?" John turned around. 

"Yes, Sherlock. Alone. How else do we sleep?" John answered, finally annoyed. John's mind had already moved onto another topic and all he wanted to do was go back upstairs and try to forget about that tongue and those lips. He was paused by the silence that filled the room. Sherlock wasn't answering. John looked hard at his stoic flatmate. "You want to sleep with me." The realization hit him like a train. Sherlock had crawled into bed with him once or twice after some particularly gruesome cases, John mostly suspected so he wouldn't feel so alone. Sometimes this machine could almost act like a man, and sometimes when he was a man he was almost human. 

"At this point, John, there are a myriad of other things I would rather do than sleep." Those grey eyes flashed mischievously. It was John's turn to be speechless. Sherlock chuckled. "For John 'Three Continents' Watson, I would hardly describe the appropriate reaction to someone offering sexual relations to be silence." 

"It's appropriate when it's your damn flatmate offering." John countered quickly, begging the blush in his cheeks to fade.

"You've fantasized about it." Sherlock said. He was so damn cocky with the smirk playing across his lips. John moaned to himself, god those lips. Those stupid, perfect, filthy heart shaped lips. 

"Your point?" John asked, shifting his stance so the half mast hard on in his pajama bottoms wouldn't be so visible.

"I don't see how denying two people with mutual attraction sexual release is in anyway conducive to a healthy living environment." Sherlock rattled off.

"You want us to shag to make living with you easier? Sherlock, I have no idea how that makes sense on any planet." John said, finally giving up.

"Quite the contrary, John." Sherlock was slowly pushing himself out of his chair. It was like he was moving in slow motion. Crossing the room, long and tall and dark and walking right up into Watson personal space. "I want us to fuck..." He let the obscenity hang there, drinking in the look of one surprise John Watson all the while before continuing. "Because I want to make you cum so hard for me that you stop running off with ditzy women below your standards. You deserve better, John. You deserve me." Sherlock murmured, that silken voice just dripping out of him with sex appeal. John found his mouth suddenly dry. Everything was moving too fast, there had to be reason, there had to be logic, there had to be... lips. Soft, heart shaped lips pressed up against his own. Tentative and shy, but braced with courage. When the rather chaste kiss was broken, Sherlock was looking at John as he opened his eyes.

"Anything else I should know?" John managed to push out.

"Besides the obvious?" Sherlock was tense, obviously wanting him to do something or say something. John mearly shook his head. Sherlock smirked and moved in closer so their bodies were almost a hairs width apart, leaning down to John's ear. Hot breath, soft tongue. "I love it when you give me orders..." A lick up the shell of John's ear, punctuated by a quick bite. "Captain." It took ever fiber of John Hamish Watson to not pass out there on the spot. How could he have known any of this? Sherlock would be saying something about how blind he was or some such nonsense. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but this.

"Kiss me." John managed to answer. The difference was immediate. This was more than the sun rising or a light switch being flicked on. The passion and tenderness behind the lips, tongue and man now invading his mouth was like the difference between breathing and not. The difference between blood or oil running through your veins. Sherlock was doing his damnedest to crawl right into the mouth of the man before him and just live inside. The kiss broke and both men stood breathing heavily, unsure of how to continue.

"Bed. Strip. Wait." John struggled out, watching light catch in those grey eyes before they disappeared. He ran a hand over his face, down his chest and palmed his heavy erection. Sherlock never moved that fast ever. Then again, as more light was being shed on their relationship, John realized he never really commanded Sherlock to do anything. 'When will the head in the fridge be gone?' was not the same as 'Get the head out of the fridge. Now.' His head snapped up when he heard a moan come from Sherlock's bedroom. John smirked, stripped himself of his shirt, pulled his pajama pants down past his hips and sauntered into the bedroom.

Sherlock was on the bed. He was indeed naked. Miles of glorious alabaster skin stretched out again a surprisingly plush looking blue comforter. Sherlock sunk into it slightly, bringing the stark contrast further into reality. John took a moment to appreciate. His body was thin, though John knew most of that from patching and re patching the rebellious little patient. Scars stood out pearly pink against the pale skin, but his muscles were carved from marble. That bone structure was completely beautiful. John let his eyes drift over his next conquest, and a part of him hoped it would be his last. Sherlock had his long, thin fingers fisted around his cock, stroking softly. John's eyes drifted back up to the beautiful and angular face that was looking at him.

"Stop." John quietly commanded. It was almost hesitant in the way Sherlock pulled his hand away from his cock. "I never said anything about you touching yourself." John smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. Sherlock smirked right back at him. The fight for dominance in the bedroom made the air crackle between them. John uncurled his arms and approached the bed. Never once breaking contact with those eyes, John found himself slowly stripping out of his pajama bottoms and crawling over to the curious detective. John was positively aching as he slowly straddled the man, sitting comfortably on his thighs.

Sherlock's eyes were engulfed by his pupils. His hair was sticking out in all directions, making that prim and well collected appearance make much more sense. He looked downright irresistible in this position. Flushed, naked, nervous... For the first time in a long time, John saw him as truly vulnerable and it was breath taking. John leaned down and captured those lips with his own again, invading that mouth, trying to kiss away any fear and replace it with love and trust. John ran his hands over Sherlock's chest, drawing out a low moan. John shifted himself forward and both let out a gasp and a satisfied moan as their cocks finally brushed up against each other. John broke the kiss and slid himself up along Sherlock slowly. 

"Touch me..." John whispered feverishly. John moaned as those long fingers finally gripped him and started stroking him slowly. It wasn't the same. "Both..." John moaned. Sherlock's hand closed both of their cocks together, both men bucking into a single closed fist. Like all of Sherlock, John expected his hand to be soft. Yet all he could feel was callused fingertips, heat, slick, tight... He managed to stutter out something like stop and was met with a confused glare from Sherlock. John ignored it and dipped down to start kissing him again, leaving his lips to nip out moans of his name down that long throat. While they were still rutting together, Sherlock's hands had disappeared into the sheets, onto John's skin, into John's hair. Both of them moaning roughly.

"I want you, John..." Sherlock managed to rasp out between thrusts. John paused and dipped his head down to suck on one of Sherlock's nipples. Sherlock yet out a strange combination between a moan and a yelp as John rolled the hard nub of flesh between his teeth. "Fuck me, John!" Sherlock nearly screamed out. "Please!" It was on the edge of a sob and John brought their faces level. John had been so wrapped up in exploring the miles of flesh beneath him to even think about what it was doing to the actual man. John sat up to get a better look because this was something he always wanted to remember. 

His eyes were shiny, pupils blown open, eyes wide and needy. His lips were red and swollen from kisses and had light bite marks from where the man had obviously been biting his own lips. He was flushed, from face to chest, breathing heavy and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His hair was flying every which way, some curled to his forehead with sweat. John couldn't wait until he could look at this man after being completely fucked out. 

"Is that what you want? You want me to finger you open, fuck you nice and hard, cum inside that tight little ass and claim you as mine, don't you?" John asked Sherlock, running his thumbs in circles on the thin man's hip bones. "Answer me, Sherlock." John said lightly, a touch of a sing song quality in his voice. He was circling his fingers closer and closer to that nicely trimmed nest of hair and that needy looking cock. Sherlock swallowed and John watched in amusement as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

"Yes, John. Please." Sherlock whispered.

"Louder. Couldn't hear you." John said leaning down to start sucking on that negative space between hip bone and pubic hair, biting and bringing a pretty hickey to the surface. Sherlock was panting.

"God dammit, John, yes. Please. Fuck me. Claim me. I need you, I've wanted you for so long..." Sherlock all but shouted as John trailed kisses over to his other hip and began to bite and suck there as well. John made an interested noise while his mouth was other wise occupied. "I think about you John, touching me, kissing me... AH!" John began trailing little nips and bites down one thigh. "I touch myself thinking about you, wondering how your mouth feels, wondering what your cock tastes like, how you would fuck me..." Sherlock moaned as one of his legs was hitched over John's shoulder. "God, John, please don't stop." Sherlock moaned as John was kissing down the back of one thigh before hitching the other over his shoulders and kissing up the back of the other. There was a slight shuffle and John chuckled as he heard the thump of something land by one of his hands.

"More." John said as he spread open Sherlock's cheeks to press a kiss against Sherlock's pink little hole. His whole back arched at the contact. 

"I was touching myself while you were asleep. Stroking myself, fingering myself, calling out your name. I was terrified when you woke up, I thought you had heard me." Sherlock breathed out and John pressed his tongue against him. Sherlock did his best to control the need to buck into that face between his thighs. Sherlock moaned loudly as John pushed his tongue in. "Feels... so good..." Sherlock groaned, fisting into the sheets. John pressed another kiss to each cheek before kissing his way back up to Sherlock's mouth, capturing him in a deep kiss. 

"Sherlock." John said between kisses back down his body, reaching for the lube. 

"Yes, John?" Sherlock asked him. 

"I'm about to fuck you so hard that you'll probably sleep for a week. Is there anything else you want to confess while you still have consciousness?" John asked while warming some lube in his hand. The smile that was spreading on Sherlock's face was quickly transformed into a small moan as John began stroking a well lubed finger against him. "Last chance..." John said teasingly as he pressed his finger in, watching Sherlock arch again and loving every second. Sherlock (the man) was lost and was all the sudden replaced with Sherlock (the body), his hot hole eating up John's finger like it was starved. John pulled out one finger and replaced it with two, watching the detective arch again. Two quickly became three and John watched while pressing kisses into both thighs as he dragged his fingers lightly across Sherlock's prostate. 

"God yes, John! There!" Sherlock screamed, fisting his hand into John's hair. John chuckled, grabbed the lube with his free hand and started lubing up his cock. Sherlock whimpered as John pulled his fingers out and moaned as he felt the head of John's hot cock press up against him. 

"Open your eyes, Sherlock." John was swimming right in his vision. "I need to see this..." John said, a small blush crawling into his cheeks. John shifted his hips and slipped inside, pushing in slowly and watching the pleasure, the pain and the adoration in his partner's eyes come to life. John moaned and leaned down to kiss him, bottoming out and pausing for a moment before slowly pulling out and pushing back in. Sherlock moaned into the kiss, but stayed still save for wrapping his legs around his soldier's waist. It was slow and cautious love making, not the rough fuck either of them were expecting. John took his time, playing Sherlock like a violin, plucking at individual strings until he sang out in a moan or a scream or a cry for more. John kept his pace slow, meaningful and deep. Sherlock was babbling and it was beautiful. John loved seeing this man come undone, he wanted to see this man completely gone though.

John slid his hands down and wrapped them around Sherlock's hips, stilling the slow rocking. John angled himself slightly and found that spot to make Sherlock arch, and hummed happily, licking a nipple when he did. Then slow and loving sort of disappeared. John started snapping his hips faster and faster until both of them were moaning and Sherlock was whimpering something about being close. John hadn't let him touch himself and wasn't about to start, he was going to make Sherlock cum for him this way. Sherlock's body started to get tighter and tighter, both of them getting closer and closer. With a few more strokes, Sherlock's body was arching and he was cumming, screaming John's name and covering his chest in his own semen. John felt himself fall over the edge, watching this beautiful thing beneath him shatter apart and he was cumming hot and hard inside of his new found lover.

Both of them couldn't move, panting, enjoying the sensations. John finally moved one of Sherlock's legs and spread himself out beside the disheveled detective. Sherlock's eyes were closed but there was a smile on his lips. He looked stunning and John couldn't take his eyes off him. Neither of them did anything but breathe until they could take normal breaths again. Sherlock rotated so he was facing John.

"Fantastic. Brilliant." Sherlock uttered and smiled. John blushed, finally understanding how it felt every time he said that to Sherlock. John pulled Sherlock into his arms and covered them both, letting the dawn shine in through the windows before they both drifted off into a deep and silent sleep.


End file.
